Last Call
by SilasWhitfield
Summary: The Treadstone/Blackbriar story has broken to the media and the CIA is quietly killing off the remaining agents. No more secrets must come to light. Rated T for violence.
1. Chapter 1

The dark alley was calm, a stretch of quiet in a city where calm was scarce. Some people found it, and when they did they shivered and ran back to their hustle and bustle and tick-tock lives. Nikolai stood here, watching the rain fall on the street and get whisked away into endless drains. He should be running. He knew they probably were. Running and driving and shouting commands into walkie-talkies and pulling out long and cruel black bullet spewing implements of death. They wanted to kill him. Kill him because he knew. The program had collapsed after Bourne went to the media. Collapsed in on itself like an old and tired house of cards. There was still time though, time enough for one last cross-country romp to silence the remaining agents, and with them their training. No more would these silent reapers stalk the earth as mortals, harvesting their targets as wheat to the scythe upon order of the all-mighty Central Intelligence Agency. Now they were dinosaurs, staring into the face of a meteor and wondering what the fuck they were going to do about it. All the others were dead or dying. Nikolai was the last one alive in the big apple, and the situation around the world was much the same. Some would survive, but not many. His ears pricked up at the sound of squealing tires all around him. Time was running out.

Even as fast footsteps made their way to the alley, Nikolai pushed open the back door to the apartment complex and stepped into the elevator. A mother was standing inside, holding her groceries in her arms. He smiled at her and hit the top floor button. After a few awkward moments of silence, the fire alarm sounded and the elevator stopped, six floors short of the roof. Nikolai let out a sigh, they were clever bastards. The woman looked a little panicked.

"How are we going to get out of here?"

He did not have time for answers. The top panel of the elevator opened up easily enough and he hoisted his lean frame through it, closing it after him despite the woman's protests. Seconds later he heard the doors open and heavy footfalls echoed through the elevator shaft.

"Shit. Must have taken the stairs, lets go, lock everything down."

The grocery woman's voice sounded plaintively

"Hey what's going on?"

Silently as he could Nikolai shimmied up the huge cable that held the elevator and pried open the doors to the next floor a crack. No one. He pulled himself through and began sprinting down the corridor past huge glass windows, looking for the stairs. He stopped and stared out of it. Why was he running? Death was near, and he more than anyone in the whole world knew it's icy breath. A cold circle pressed into the back of his neck. Only one person could have snuck up on him like that. He smiled, the irony was almost overpowering.

"Jacob."

"Nikolai."

"They send an agent to kill an agent. Naturally. I guess putting down the gun and running away with me is not an option?"

"Nope. I was promised immunity in exchange for your life."

Nikolai turned to face his assailant, who continued to point the pistol at him.

"Do you really think they will spare you? You are an asset to them. A piece of hardware. They will toss you aside like a fucking rag."

"It's a chance I'm willing to take."

"You were always clueless and gullible, it made you a poor agent and a terrible human being."

"Sticks and stones."

Slowly Nikolai turned to face the glass window, and the massive metropolis of New York stretched out before him, a wet black chasm that he would dive into. One last time.

"So the reapers fall to their own scythe."

Nikolai closed his eyes and whispered

"Do it."

Jacob's finger pulled the trigger, and the hammer fell in monumentally slow increments towards the back of the bullet. The powder ignited and sent the nine millimeter slug rocketing out of the barrel, pushing air out of its way, and hit Nikolai straight in the gut. Blood spattered the floor beside him and he fell to his knees, clutching his stomach. The agent towered over him and fired, again and again and again. The last thing Nikolai saw before bullets ripped away his world forever was his own blood.

Jacob stared at the corpse for a long while, considering the man's last words. behind him the elevator bell rang and CIA operatives piled out, pistols aiming.

"Good job, that's one less lose end."

Through the small crowd of agents stepped the station chief for New York.

"Excellent work Jacob. Your services are no longer needed, you are free to go."

A smile of relief spread across his face and he turned to shake the chief's hand

"Thank you, it's been a pleasu-"

The shots rang out one after another and Jacob tried to scream but managed only a slight gurgle as collapsed and fell back across the body of his comrade. One of the agents returned his pistol to its holster.

"Alright, lets go, nothing more to see here."

Silently the group stepped back into the elevator. In the hall and ever widening pool of blood soaked into the starchy blue carpet.


	2. Chapter 2

Amir ducked through a wall of wet shirts pinned to a clothesline and kept running. His shemagh was coming unraveled and the lose ends flapped around his head like ponytails. Through an alley between two houses, out onto the street and on the dirt road, pushing past indignant villagers. After a few minutes of running he ducked into a storefront and looked up. He could still see it, high in the air. A little black speck, that did not belong on the cloudless morning sky. It was an MQ-9 Reaper drone, carrying a multitude of thermal and infrared cameras plus no less than fourteen Hellfire air-to-ground missiles. The massive projectiles were designed to smash through the armor of a sixty ton tank, and now they were searching for him. Amir cursed and removed his head scarf, looking up and down the street to make sure there were no Marines patrolling.

His entire life had been turned upside down just a few days ago when a squad of United States infantry broke down the door to his modest home in Kandahar. The betrayal burned him to his core. Twelve years of his life he had devoted to killing the enemies of the United States, and his reward was a fire team sent to blast him to bits. Three days he had spent, barely sleeping, barley eating, always watching for patrols. In Afghanistan, it was easy to claim someone was a terrorist and they would get a nice little visit from the Western dogs, never be seen again. Amir was not about to let them put a black bag over his head and drag him off to Allah knows where. The CIA would pay for this.

When he was sure the coast was clear he stepped back into the street and continued walking away from the center of the village. After a few hundred paces he turned right, then left, then right again. No one was following him. Quietly as he could he made his way through the dirt paths that crisscrossed the small settlement and found what he was looking for; a lone mosque, the speakers on the minaret filling the streets with the melodic sound of the Islamic morning prayer. He opened the door and slipped in, closing it silently behind him. A small worship hall lay in front of him, and there was a short man leaning over a cabinet up on the dais. He stood and greeted Amir with a wide smile.

"Amir! Good to see you! I was wondering when you were going to drop in on me again."

Amir shook the hand of the old priest and nodded his head respectfully.

"I am sorry Hassan, but I have not come to talk. The Americans have proclaimed me a wanted man, and even now there is a drone circling above the village, waiting for me to leave so they can pick me off."

Hassan's face fell and he leaned in closer

"Are you sure of this Amir?"

"Absolutely."

The priest looked thoughtfully at the floor for a few moments, stroking his beard.

"Here is what you must do. Go to the Police station, it's south of here a ways, you can't miss it, big square building, bars over the windows. Talk to the police chief, he is a militia sympathizer and he will give you what you need to make your escape."

Amir thanked the man and departed. He looked up again as he strode down a side street. It was still there, closer than ever, a shadow on the sunrise, like an ominous bird of prey. Hearing the crunch of boots and the bleep of radio's he dove behind a pile of trash and hid himself. Two American soldiers walked slowly past, eyes sweeping the sides of the street, hands resting on their weapons. As soon as they had passed, Amir stood again and continued towards the blocky building near the south eastern tip of the town. The door was open and he let himself in. The interior was shabbily furnished, no portraits on the grey concrete walls, the incandescent bulbs putting out a harsh light. A mustached man sat in a chair behind a card table, smoking a cigarette and reading a newspaper. He eyed Amir dubiously.

"Can I help you?"

"I need to see the chief of police" said Amir tentatively.

The guard laughed

"Got an appointment?"

"Well, not exactly..."

The guard nodded and waved at him

"Then goodbye, the chief doesn't take unsolicited callers."

"Hassan told me to come here."

The guards expression grew more serious

"Hassan sent you?"

"Yes."

The man paused for a moment and then stood, motioning Amir closer. He patted him down from top to bottom and then nodded curtly.

"Knock before you go in, he's upstairs, last door on the right."

Amir thanked the guard who grunted and returned to his paper, pungent wafts of cigarette smoke billowing from his lips. He ascended a flight of stone steps and emerged into a dimly light hallway. Going to the door the guard had indicated he knocked twice. A voice issued from inside.

"Come in."

Amir opened the door and stepped into the chief's office. The furnishings were not so spartan here, there was a portrait of a man that must have been the chief shaking hands with a high raking American soldier, both grinning past large cigars. A lavish oaken desk was covered with papers and behind it in a high backed chair sat the chief of police.

"Who are you?"

"Ah, I'm in a bit of trouble and Hassan told me to find you."

A look of recognition dawned on the man's ruddy face.

"Oh, yes, he called ahead to tell me you were coming, my apologies, did the front desk give you a hard time? No matter, sit, sit, what is it you need?"

The man pointed to a wooden chair opposite the desk and Amir obliged him.

"I am a wanted man with the Americans, they are pursuing me and there is a drone circling the town as we speak, waiting to blow me to kingdom come the second I step out of the village."

The chief shook his head.

"Damn, I've heard about those things. Never thought I'd get one in my own backyard, what a bunch of cowards!"

He looked up at Amir and nodded.

"There is only one thing to do, really. There is a car out back, the keys are on the desk there. Take the main road west, do not stop until you are in Pakistan. Then go to the capital and seek out this address. Tell them Chief Mohammed sent you, and don't take no for an answer. They will take you in for a few days and arrange to send you somewhere safer."

Amir breathed a sigh of relief.

"Thank you so much, I am greatly indebted to you-"

The chief cut him off with a wag of his finger

"Pay me back by not getting caught. Now, come with me."

The man stood and escorted Amir down the hall to another door, this one locked. He produced a key and opened it. Amir's jaw dropped.

The inside was lined with weapons. RPG-7's, PKM's, AV Mines, Satchels of explosives, crates of ammunitions and racks upon racks of Kalashnikovs. Seeing the amazed look on Amir's face the chief grinned.

"We have quite a few toys lying around. Better to have someone else play with them than keep them here, collecting dust. Here, this should take care of that drone."

Bending over, the chief produce a long green tube with sighting apparatus.

"You have a Stinger?"

"Just one. Snatched it up from some Mujahedeen who owed me a good deal of money. It is old, but it should work just fine, only, don't fire it near this station, or they'll know who it was. Take anything else you need. Here."

The chief tossed him the keys, which Amir caught deftly.

"It's a green Toyota, bit clunky but it should last you past the border on that tank of gas."

Amir thanked him again and waded into the armory, picking up a ballistic vest and a Kalashnikov with a folding stock. He put the body armor on and slung the Kalashnikov so that they were both concealed under his jacket. The Stinger he slung over his shoulder.

***

Amir got out of the car, leaving the engine on and retrieved the Stinger from the passenger seat, flicking the blanket off of it that had concealed it from prying eyes. He spotted the Reaper, drifting on the thermals away to the west. Slowly he thumbed the safeties and armed the targeting mechanism which beeped once. Bringing the circular aiming piece to his eye he centered the distant dot in it and waited. There was a low warbling hum as the miniature computer acquired the target. Another small beep told him the missile was ready. He steeled himself, crouched down on one knee and pulled the plastic trigger. A massive WHOOSH of hot air blew over him as the rocket screamed out of its tube and the propellant ignited. He watched in awe as the missile screamed upward, becoming just another fast moving black dot, then disappeared. Several terse seconds passed in which Amir worried he had done it wrong. Then a massive fireball consumed the drone and burning pieces fell out of the sky. The fireball hung in silence for a moment and then the sound caught up with the light, making dust jump off of the car's metal frame. Amir threw the launcher into a trash heap and buried it hastily. Then he got back into the car and drove as nonchalantly as possible back to the main road. He turned left and what he saw at the end of the road made the bottom fall out of his stomach. A checkpoint. US Marines were standing, weapons raised, looking at the spot where the drone had been just a second before. They would never let him past, there was only one thing for it. Amir grabbed the Kalashnikov and cocked it, resting the muzzle on the dashboard, his other hand on the steering wheel. He slowly accelerated, trying to delay the moment the soldier would notice hi until the last second. When he was about a hundred yards away one of the Marines turned and shouted something to his comrades. They all turned around and started shouting for him to stop in English. Amir clenched his teeth and put his foot all the way to the floor. The little car jerked forward and he opened the window and stuck the rifle out, resting the barrel on the side view mirror to keep it steady, and opened fire. 7.62 millimeter bullets smacked into the ground all around the soldiers and impacted on the walls, throwing up large clouds of dust and debris. The Marines jumped back and threw themselves to the ground, taking cover from the blast

of automatic fire. The action clicked open after the last round exited the chamber and Amir pushed the little car to its limit, roaring past the checkpoint and shifting into fourth gear. I n his rear view mirror the soldiers jumped to their feet and opened fire, bullets crack and napping past the car. Some hit the bumper and trunk, one of them smashed through his right side view mirror, snapping it cleanly off. Amir cursed, but held the car steady. Up ahead the road curved into the mountains and he would be beyond their range. The bullets stopped and he looked into his ear view mirror. He could see the faint silhouettes of the soldiers in the distance, running back towards the village. Behind him, the orange sun rose over the Afghan desert.


End file.
